


Memoria

by soupypictures



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Established Relationship, M/M, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Psychological Trauma, but not at the hands of his lover okay, or at least the perception of memory loss or alteration, that is all Kylo Ren's fault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 11:08:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8053981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soupypictures/pseuds/soupypictures
Summary: After his interrogation on the Finalizer, Poe Dameron is tormented by the idea that his memory has been damaged. That his time with his lover could be erased sets Poe into a panic searching for reassurance.





	Memoria

**Author's Note:**

> While I'm using the same characters as in my previous SW story, the other one isn't technically canon if the OMC is Resistance Soldier (which he is). This one _is_ canon! Any biographical details about Marek and Poe from that story do carry on to this one.
> 
> Dedicated to [Adorned](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Adorned/profile), whom I don't know, but who left a kind comment that spurred me to dig up this story that was languishing in my google docs.

First things first, he’s debriefed. He’s clinical in his description because he has to be. When he recounts his interrogation, he describes what happened and that’s it. 

“He raised his hand and I felt a pressure inside of my skull.”

_He was pushing around in there, rooting through my memories._

“I knew he wanted the location of the map, so I thought about everything else. It was hard to hold onto the mundane ideas -- I started with a TIE fighter’s schematics -- so I moved to more personal thoughts.”

_Marek Marek Marek my love your hands steady oil-stained Marek my soldier_

“That worked for awhile, I think he was getting frustrated, but eventually ... I’m sorry. I ran out of energy.”

General Organa shushes him and squeezes his arm. “It’s alright. You did as well as you could.” He can see the pain in her eyes. “Commander, is there anything else about his interrogation technique that might be helpful in understanding his capabilities?”

General Organa never says his name. Either of them. Poe sighs. “I don’t know. I think ... I think he _took_ something from me. But I don’t know what it is.” He blinks, a sick feeling settling into his stomach. “I guess I never will.”

General Organa nods at her assistant, who stops recording.

“There’s more --”

“That’s enough for today, Poe. Get some sleep. We’ll resume this in the morning.”

Poe stands, giving in. He wants to get this over with, but he’s feeling his exhaustion, and now dread. He needs to find Marek and check his memories against reality. “I’ll be back at oh-eight hundred.”

“Antilles is on-planet and off-duty,” General Organa informs him casually, not acknowledging his promise to be back in the morning, and Poe nods his thanks.

When Marek is off-duty, he’s either in the mess hall or their shared quarters. He keeps to himself, the opposite of Poe, and spends his time devouring news on the Holonet, or reading about ancient history on his datapad. It’s not meal time, so Poe points himself toward their quarters. The closer he gets, the more the dread builds up in his gut that using his memories of Marek as a shield made those memories vulnerable. His hand hovers over the control panel as the horrifying thought that he might not remember his lover’s face flashes through his mind. _I can’t trust my memories._

_Any of them._

_Ever again._

Poe shakes his head and keys the door open, searching the dark room for Marek’s presence. When he made Commander he finally had enough pull to score them a standard-and-a-half bed. Marek is asleep on it now.

_He has no idea I’m back. He has no idea what happened._ He wants to shake Marek awake and be held close and warm and safe and connected, to pull Marek on top of him and inside him. His desire for comfort wars with this peaceful picture, this man innocent of the horrors visited upon his partner. Poe doesn’t want him to hurt, too. He gasps in a deep breath, like he’d been holding it since he’d stepped into the room _oh gods, what if I forget to breathe_ and Marek blinks open his eyes. 

“Poe?” he asks sleepily, rubbing at his eyes with one hand and pushing himself up with the other. “When did you get in?”

_I know you_ courses through his body and Poe chokes on a sob as his knees buckle in relief.

“What’s happening?” Marek demands, reaching out and pulling Poe to him on the bed. “Are you having a panic attack? Do you have those? What _happened_ to you on Jakku?”

Poe wrangles in his breathing long enough to say, “You weren’t supposed to know I was on Jakku.”

Marek’s arms hold him to his chest and his hands are busy briskly rubbing up and down his spine. He whispers _you’re safe_ over and over and Poe begins to calm down. “I hesitate to ask, love, but is Beebee-Ate charging somewhere else?”

Poe feels his heart break some more and presses his face against Marek’s chest. “I lost him,” he says into Marek’s skin. “I can’t -- I can’t talk about that. I’ll get you the transcript of my debrief once I’m finished.”

“They let you out before you finished debriefing?”

Poe doesn’t answer, the relief of _knowing_ Marek warring with the untempered _something is wrong_ that is settling into the pit of his stomach. “Marek, I -- something awful happened.”

“Your droid is a wily one, I’m sure --”

“No, to me. I -- What did they tell you? How did you know I was on Jakku?”

Marek has gone still, his hands clutching Poe to his chest. “As your next of kin, I was informed that you had been captured while on a mission and that you had escaped and were on your way home.”

“That’s all?”

“It was a top-secret mission, they told me more than they should have. If we were anyone else I probably wouldn’t have gotten _any_ information until you turned up here or dead.”

“The First Order took me.”

“I figured that. As much as the New Republic hates us they’re not in the business of capturing our agents.”

“I was interrogated.”

Marek immediately loosens his hold on Poe. “You should have _said_ so, am I hurting you?”

“It wasn’t -- there wasn’t any physical pain. And no chemicals, either. Don’t -- he got into my head. He was looking for what I hid, and where I hid it, and I had to keep my mind from thinking about it, but you know how if you’re told not to think about something that’s all you can think about so I thought about everything else, mechanics, schematics, but those are just things I _know_ , they aren’t strong memories, so I thought about you. I could keep him out of where the plans were hidden if I was thinking about you and us and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Poe reaches his limit and breaks down into tears, deep wrenching sobs that Marek has never witnessed.

“You don’t have to be sorry for thinking about me. That’s not a bad thing. I -- I want to be there for you, I’m glad I could be there for you even if --”

“You don’t _understand._ He _knows_ now, and I feel _wrong_ and something’s _missing_ and I don’t know what it is and I never will know because if he took it I don’t have it anymore and what if -- Before I got here I thought maybe I wouldn’t remember who you were, when I saw you, or --”

“Oh love --”

“What if he took away our first kiss or the moment I realized I was in love with you or our first time together --”

“Stop for a moment, Poe. You know those exist: remember them. Can you remember them? Are they there for you?” Marek’s hands are back to wandering Poe’s body, firm pressure keeping a constant reminder of his presence to root Poe in the here and now.

“I can, but -- what if he _changed_ them somehow -- oh gods, what if --”

“Poe! I’m here. I remember those things, he -- whoever he is -- he hasn’t touched my mind. Whatever -- whatever _he_ did, if he stole something from you or didn’t, if he changed something... whatever it is, I’m here and we’ll work through it. There’s absolutely nothing he could have done that will change how I feel about you.”

And Poe knows that. It isn’t _Marek_ that worries him. _What if he changed how I feel about you?_ He imagines a thermal detonator planted in his mind, each moment ticking down, all of the good ones counting down to the one where the change in his memory, this perceived change that he _feels_ because it doesn’t feel _right_ , that moment where everything will change forever.

The adrenalin is working its way from his system and he feels exhaustion tug at his consciousness. After days of _fight-or-flight_ to be finally safe in his lover’s arms, no matter how uncertain their future is, Poe is able to let go and rest.

\---

He wakes the next morning disoriented and groggy. Marek is in bed with him, but the errant smear of oil on his neck betrays the fact that he’d been through at least one duty shift while Poe had been passed out. Without thinking he croaks out, “Beebee-Ate, time’sit?” The ominous silence and Marek shifting next to him brings back his last forty-eight hours and he chokes back another sob.

“Poe?”

“I _lost him_ ,” is all he manages to get out.

“We’ll find him. He’ll find us. You did your best and that’s all we can ask. We’d know if they’d found him,” Marek reasons, and that alleviates Poe’s guilt to a degree. “I missed you terribly, by the way. I don’t think I got to say that yesterday.”

“I miss you always,” Poe responds. His full bladder makes itself known and Poe swings his legs out of the bed to head to the ‘fresher. “What time is it? How long was I out?” 

“Just sixteen hours.”

Poe’s eyes widen as he relieves himself. “‘ _Just_ ’ sixteen hours! Marek, I have to finish my debrief! I’ve got a squadron to --”

“When I reported for duty, General Organa ordered me to make sure you slept as long as you needed to and to take care of you. You’ve been through _trauma_ , Poe. You need to let your body and mind repair.”

Poe finishes in the ‘fresher and turns to stand in the doorway, observing Marek on their bed, still tangled in their Bakuran luxury sheets they’d scored as a diplomatic gift. “Trillions of beings in this galaxy have suffered far more trauma than me and don’t have the luxury of taking a break.”

“All those trillions of other beings don’t have me. Come back to bed. Let me take care of you.” There’s purpose behind Marek’s words and Poe lights up inside.

“I don’t think that’s what the General had in mind,” Poe tries to joke, his eyes caught on Marek’s scarred torso, old wounds that are a mystery to him now, but might not have been days ago. 

Marek notices his gaze and clears his throat. “I haven’t told you that story.” _But I will_ , Poe hears echoing in his memory, and he is satisfied, at least for now, with that.

And Marek like this, soft and just-woken in their bed on their sheets, it never fails to heat his blood. He _wants_ , and when he finally has his mouth on his lover’s he feels right and settled. Maybe Kylo Ren fucked with his memory, maybe he stole something. Here though, and now, he knows he’s wanted and that he wants in return. 

Marek moans when Poe pushes aside the sheets to wrap his hand around Marek’s length, halfway there already from sleep and their deep kisses. He hooks his thumbs beneath the waistband of Poe’s shorts and expertly guides them off, Poe shifting his weight to help him.

“We’re such a good team,” Marek breathes, hands settling finally on Poe’s ass, eliciting an answering moan from the pilot when his fingers dig into the muscle. “You choose. How do you want me?”

Every way he _could_ have him rushes through his mind, snapshots of their past together flitting through his mind’s eye. Whether they’re real memories or counterfeits sits at the edge of his consciousness and makes him gasp “Hard,” when Marek presses his hips up to grind their cocks together.

Marek’s response to that is to pull Poe down by his neck into a wet kiss, searching and assertive. There’s comfort in every sense -- the familiar smell and taste of machine lubricant clinging stubbornly to Marek’s skin; the low rumble of Marek’s pleasured groans; his hot touch as he drinks Poe in with his gaze. _These are_ my _memories._

Clever fingers slide down the cleft of Poe’s ass and he shivers in anticipation. He leans up to grab their container of lubricant and get it as quickly as possible onto Marek’s fingers. The eagerness he feels is reminiscent of that rushed night just after they’d decided to join the Resistance. They’d started the discussion as friends, known to each other from the hangar deck. They were kindred souls and after a few weeks of dancing around the next step -- both in a physical relationship and their political affiliation -- Poe had pushed Marek onto the single bed in the mechanic’s quarters and ridden him into incoherence.

Marek’s fingers sinking into him bring him back to the present. They haven’t had time for this in what feels like months -- between Poe’s propensity to volunteer for dangerous missions and Marek’s political connections on Corellia, the two were rarely on the same planet at the same time. This closeness is heady.

Marek presses particularly deep with three of his fingers. “Ready?” he asks and Poe whimpers, pushes back as Marek scissors his fingers and that’s it, he wants more. He wants everything.

“Yeah yeah yeah,” he breathes, breaking contact with Marek and shifting off him onto his stomach on their sheets. He spreads his knees in invitation and Marek moves in quickly with a kiss to his shoulder.

Big hands on his thighs are like warm anchors as Marek presses into him, full and connected in a way that he’s craved, that he aches for when he’s away. He knows his reputation -- the arrogant, stereotypical flyboy -- and he knows the talk behind his back. He knows the gossip about them, the idle chatter Shenda hears and reports back to him when they’re off-world. They speculate and intimate and wonder how the gentle, unassuming head mechanic could possibly nail down the pilot who craves atmospheric dogfights.

With Marek’s strong chest against his back and their hands intertwined, Poe grinds his hips back and thinks, _if only they knew_.

Marek is murmuring encouragement, a litany of curses and _yeah, that’s right_ , praise of how good he feels and how much he’s missed him. Poe’s erection is trapped between him and the mattress but he doesn’t care, the friction enough to keep him on edge and the relentless pressure of Marek’s cock inside him and his body on top of him exactly what he needs.

“Close,” Marek pants into his ear and Poe pushes up on the bed to get onto his elbows and knees, creating space for Marek to wrap a hand around his cock.

“Oh gods,” Poe gasps and it’s only a few more thrusts and tight passes of Marek’s hand over his cock before he’s spilling onto the sheets. 

“Do you want--”

“Inside,” Poe begs. He wants more physical reminders to take with him, even if it’s just for a few minutes before Marek cleans him up. Sensitive, but not overly so, Poe spreads his knees further and takes a particularly hard thrust that has Marek emptying into him. Poe curses and collapses onto the bed, Marek’s weight coming down with him as he grinds in still, scraping his teeth over Poe’s shoulder.

“That okay?”

Poe nods, eyes closed. He feels Marek pulling away and groans, turning over onto his back and pulling his lover back down on his chest. “You’re a miracle,” he murmurs, and Marek laughs against his shoulder.

“Do you feel better?”

“Could sleep another eight hours --”

“Go for it.”

“I’ve got to finish that debrief. Beebee-Ate is out there with some important information and if that ends up in the wrong hands ...” he tightens his arm around Marek’s shoulders.

“Alright. I suppose I’ve allowed you to ignore your duties for long enough. Let me clean you up and we’ll get you into the sanisteam.”

“Promise me that when this is all over we’re going to have a real shower.”

Marek smiles at him and the intimacy of it settles Poe’s heart. “Anything you want, you’ll have.” Poe’s gaze wanders down Marek’s naked body and smiles to himself. No matter how fucked up it gets elsewhere in the galaxy, no matter how damaged he returns from a mission, Poe has a home to return to.

He resolves to figure out a way to be assured of his memory’s completion. The General could probably help with all of her connections, and if not her, someone in Marek’s extensive list of contacts has to have experience with this. But for now, there are no sharp edges and no unsettled feelings and he’s got his mechanic to thank for that.


End file.
